


Heat

by AbigailKinney4life



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, a mild breeding kink makes a cameo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:22:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24917512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbigailKinney4life/pseuds/AbigailKinney4life
Summary: Jaskier is insatiable. Who is Geralt to argue?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 17
Kudos: 598





	Heat

**Author's Note:**

> Absolute, pure filth. Please enjoy :)

Jaskier sat in Geralt’s lap, his naked back tight against the witcher’s solid chest.

The blankets were splayed around their legs. Geralt’s arms were wound around Jaskier’s stomach and holding him firm as Jaskier snapped his hips up, and back down, and his head lolled back onto Geralt’s shoulder.

“That feel good, little lark?” Geralt growled softly in his ear, using the moniker he reserved for when Jaskier was at the apex of his pleasure, when he was at his most vulnerable within the cocoon of Geralt’s arms.

All Jaskier could do was slur in response. Spittle escaped his half-open mouth at his failed attempts to form words, to tear his body away from the fire in his groin as the unyielding _squelch_ of Geralt’s thick shaft inside him stimulated him closer and closer to the brink of ecstasy.

Jaskier’s eyes closed and his arms reached behind himself, gripping the meat of Geralt’s waist to anchor himself as his own hips sped up, rocking himself almost punishingly on Geralt’s cock. His brow was furrowed, his expression creased – he looked transported, a man possessed – wholly distracted by the desperate, insistent snap of his hips as he chased that pleasure that made his legs quake in Geralt’s lap and made his cock spew precome like a fountain when it hadn’t even been touched. Even that was too much for the poor bard; the constant weeping from his cockhead, the pressure swelling unrelieved in his throbbing manhood, Geralt’s cock rubbing inside him and inducing his seed out of him before his traitorous body even allowed him to orgasm. He was sure he would climax dry with each hedonistic spray but still he soaked himself with his own juices – a desperate, wanton whore.

Jaskier’s needy bounces suddenly picked up the pace and Geralt moaned, he couldn’t stop himself, at each forceful downward thrust as Jaskier’s asshole engulfed his cock and slammed against his hips, so Geralt was as deep inside him as he could possibly be.

Geralt had no choice but to submit as Jaskier took exactly what he needed from him – his cock, stiff and deep, so he could rub his prostate against Geralt’s thick crown so hard that Geralt could feel it, he could feel the squish of flesh against his unyielding length, the tremor of Jaskier’s body in his arms, Jaskier’s pleasure, his desire, his helplessness, a slave to Geralt’s cock and the feelings it gave him. Jaskier needed it, he needed it now. He probably felt like he would die in that moment without Geralt inside him.

The witcher growled, his lips baring back into a snarl as he latched his teeth on the bard’s throat.

A gruff groan rose from Jaskier’s gut as his fell back, hitting Geralt’s shoulder with a thud. His hips stuttered in their aggressive rhythm as pain shot through his pleasure-weakened body. His cock jumped between his legs as his fingernails dug into the meat of Geralt’s muscular thighs.

The sparks of pain ignited underneath the witcher’s skin did naught to cease his ministrations. If anything, it fuelled them. He lived for precisely _this_ moment, when inhuman noises fell unaided from Jaskier’s mouth, when he dug nails like claws into his flesh – the moment Geralt made Jaskier an animal just like him and their love-making, their _fucking_ , became primal.

Geralt’s arms slid from around Jaskier’s torso, calloused hands feeling every inch of his supple flesh, before his fingers were digging into the bard’s hip bones and he utilised his superior, _superior_ strength to hold Jaskier immobile astride him, leaning backwards but not shifting, keeping the angle, the exact angle, Jaskier had been desperately, despairingly rutting against. He thrust up into him, returning to Jaskier the stimulation he so coveted, only now he was in control and his upward thrusts were much, much _harder_.

Jaskier screamed. Geralt did not stop. He set up a brutal pace almost immediately, not granting the bard a single second of reprieve as he fucked his hole, split him in half on his cock, his mouth still clamped on his neck. Geralt was _everywhere._ He was invading every one of Jaskier’s senses; drinking from him, milking him, _marking_ him.

Geralt had often suspected his companion didn’t know how not to make noise, and never had he believed it more than right now. What had been a litany of shocked gasps of indescribable pleasure had devolved into a drawn-out scream of primal ecstasy. His body trembled within the cage of Geralt’s grip, his back slick with sweat so it slid easily up and down against Geralt’s chest.

Geralt’s hands ran up Jaskier’s spine, meeting on his back just below his ribcage, and Jaskier sighed before he was being shoved forward. He yelped as he tumbled onto his hands and knees, ass in the air, and Geralt moved slickly with him so he remained buried inside him as he got up on his knees behind him. Geralt frowned as he felt a little resistance. He placed his fingers around the base of his cock and pulled slowly out of Jaskier. He watched as his heavy cock flopped, free and aching, from its heavenly prison.

Jaskier’s hole was gaped, sucking in on itself as if gasping for air, gasping for something, at least. The bard buried his head between his forearms into the blankets and groaned as a shudder rippled through his back.

Geralt reached over for the oil, slicked himself up, let some trickle down the cleft of Jaskier’s ass, before he slid back home.

Jaskier’s response was instant. No sooner had he bottomed out had Jaskier sighed, bracing himself up on his hands and began fucking himself back on Geralt’s cock.

Geralt watched in alarmed rapture as his cock disappeared into Jaskier with each rock back of the bard’s hips. Never before had he seen him so desperate, so needy. Arousal ignited like a flame in Geralt’s stomach.

He allowed Jaskier to rut against him like a bitch in heat for a few moments more as his hand travelled up the expanse of his sweat-slicked back before reaching Jaskier’s shoulder blades.

Geralt took Jaskier by the scruff of his neck, gathering a fistful of his brunet hair in his grasp and shoving him face first down onto the bed. Jaskier let out a strangled cry, his fingers gripping the blankets tight enough to tear the fibres of the fabric, his moans muffled as his head was buried in the blankets and Geralt held him there one-handed as he ploughed into him. He planted his left foot on the bed to frame Jaskier’s hip, giving himself more leverage and allowing himself to really put his back into it.

Jaskier was screaming into the blankets; voice muffled, legs shaking. Geralt put his free hand, not entangled in the bard’s hair, on his hip to keep him upright, keep him pinned, as Geralt fucked him like an animal.

Soon Geralt was flipping him again and Jaskier was too disorientated to question it, he just found himself on his back, his legs splayed around Geralt’s waist and his cock stood taut against his stomach. His cheeks were flushed bright red, his eyes were hooded and dancing. He looked so content, so out of it, as his head tipped back against the bed and he closed his eyes and began shoving his ass down against Geralt’s crotch, rutting wildly against him, forever chasing that stimulation.

This time, Geralt didn’t stop him. He slid his large hands under Jaskier’s pelvis, lifted him slightly, and rolled the bards hips onto him, again, and then again, slowing them right down, drawing out their shared ecstasy with every rhythmic gyration of their conjoined bodies as if in an erotic dance.

Jaskier gurgled, his hand finding his own length and twisting his cockhead in his palm, then he was coming. His hips arched off the bed, his ass clamped down, desperately trying to expel the heavy intrusion as he spilled all over himself but Geralt would not allow Jaskier’s orgasming body to betray him like that. He growled low, sweat pouring down him as he fucked Jaskier through his orgasm, the resistance of his tightening walls nothing more than added stimulation for the witcher.

Jaskier fell back against the bed – breathing heavily, exhausted, twitching, _convulsing_ , really – Geralt reared back, still inside him and watched the show for a few moments before he allowed himself a few experimental pumps into Jaskier’s orgasm-loosened hole.

The look on his face, and the scent broiling off of him indicated that he wasn’t in any kind of discomfort so Geralt continued, just as slow as before, until he looked down and watched his cock throb against the rim of Jaskier’s hole as he dumped his load inside him.

Jaskier’s mouth fell open, his hips jutting up from the bed at the sudden feeling of being inexplicably and fully filled with such hot, copious liquid.

For a moment, something traitorous crossed Geralt’s mind as he watched this beautiful man convulse from his seed. He imagined Jaskier’s belly, thick and distended with his child. He imagined his nipples, hard and swollen, and he imagined his little gasps that everything was _oh so sensitive Geralt_ because Geralt had taken his body and made it his own, and in doing so, had become a willing slave to Jaskier, and to the life they would create. The thought swelled in his head, it was mad and erotic and sorrowful all at the same time, because it would never be, because -

A loud banging on the wooden door got their attention. “Will you two get up?” Came Ciri’s annoyed voice from the other side of the door, “we’re going to be late!”

\- because he already had everything he wanted.

The sound of retreating footsteps on the wooden floor signalled that their daughter had walked away and Jaskier laughed. He was still twitching, still with a cock and probably about of a pint of witcher-seed buried in his ass. He ran a hand up Geralt’s sweat-soaked abdominal muscles in appreciation.

“You know, sometimes I miss the bachelor life.” He said, his voice sounded croaky, but still with that glint of mischief Geralt couldn’t, and didn’t want, to fuck out of him. “No kids waking me up at ungodly hours.” He smirked. “No insatiable husband claiming his marital rights whenever he wants.”

Geralt curled his lip and his arm in the same instant, and Jaskier yelped happily as he was yanked up into the witcher’s strong arms. Their mouths met, lips sliding hotly against each other as he felt Geralt’s tongue sink into his mouth. He sighed.

It lasted a long time, neither one quite convincing themselves to resist the taste of one another, before Geralt pulled back and growled hotly in his ear: “shouldn’t have married me, then.”


End file.
